I purposely yank my magazine back up. “Whatever. Screw yo—”
“Three.”
He moves faster than I’d ever have imagined, and I shriek as his big, strong, warm, powerful hands grab me by the waist and effortlessly hoist me. I gasp, the sunglasses half-falling off my face as he drapes me across his shoulder, turns, and storms for the house.
I screech, kicking and hitting him as my pulse thunders like an engine in my ears. I can feel his muscles rippling against my body — his bare skin against mine, and I bite my lip to stifle the whimper as his big hands hold me firm against him.
“You’re not the boss of me!”
“I am now, princess.”
2
Diesel
This is going to be a problem.
This is going to be a big fucking problem. Blood roars in my ears, and my hand tightens. The plastic water bottle crinkles loudly under my fingers as my jaw grinds. I’m panting, my muscles heaving from the workout of the solo job — unloading a midsize truck worth of moving boxes into the huge, ivy-covered mansion up in the Hollywood Hills. L.A. is hot as fuck today, and I can feel the sweat running down my shirtless torso as I glare at the man and take another sip of cold water.
“That’s not what I do.”
Danny, her manager, smiles at me in that plasticy Hollywood bullshit way. Which makes sense seeing as his client is the queen of plasticy Hollywood pop bullshit. I don’t even follow celebrity crap, and even I know her.
Alyssa Campo: teenybopper sensation. I don’t actually know if she was a singer or an actress first. Or maybe it was a model. Who knows, and who fucking cares. Just more plastic, veneered Hollowed shit as far as I’m concerned. She’s a teen starlet, a movie sensation, and a tabloid drama queen. All I know from glances at the covers of grocery store tabloids is that she’s eighteen, wild, and constantly in trouble, very publicly. That and she’s got a reputation for being a class-A brat and a half.
“It’s what you did, though, right?”
I blink, swallowing another sip of water as I glare at Danny.
“That was a long time ago.”
“Well from what I’ve heard, you were quite good at it. You know, until you….” he clears his throat, smiling. “Well, until you changed professions.”
That’s one way of saying “went to prison for six years.”
“Find someone else, I’m not interested.”
“What if I made you interested?”
I smirk, arching a brow. “Trust me, nothing could make me interested in babysitting your client.”
Danny just smiles. “A red-blooded man saying no to spending lots of one-on-one time with Alyssa Campo?” He shrugs. “You batting for the other team, Diesel?”
“No,” I mutter, glaring at him “And are you her manager or her pimp?”
Danny chuckles. “Well that’s perfect. So committed to your job that you won’t even be tempted by the most tempting celebrity in Hollywood.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not interested—”
“You keep saying that, but let me make it worth your while. All I need is a week. In a week, her security detail will be all set up here at the new house, and the place will have all of its new security systems in place. A week, and you’re done. Think of it like being a substitute teacher or something.”
I shake my head, turning to look out the window. And I see her.
I growl.
Not tempted, huh? Something fierce rumbles through me. That’s not entirely true. I’m not interested in this bullshit job, but that’s not to say I’m not tempted. Danny is right: no red-blooded male wouldn’t be tempted by what I’m looking at.
I mean the girl is forbidden fruit personified. She’s bait.
She’s fucking intoxicating.
She’s in this snow-white bikini that hugs every goddamn curve and inch of her body like it was painted on. Her long blonde hair is piled up on her head in this messy bun that somehow makes her even sexier. Those full, pouty red lips from the cover of magazines purse, and I watch, feeling my blood thunder as the soft pink of her tongue swipes across them. She stretches out on the lawn chair out by the pool, those long tanned legs flexing, those soft, full eighteen year-old tits thrusting towards the sky. I furrow my brow, eyes fixing on those…
I groan.
She’s got nipple piercings. Two of them. And trust me when I say I notice them from all the way over here.
She’s reading some trashy gossip magazine, her eyes hidden behind these big dark movie-star sunglasses. But I know they’re crystal blue from the bits of her I’ve seen.
Shit, this is going to be trouble.
She’s gorgeous, there’s no doubting that. And tempting as all fucking sin. And I’d be a liar if I said that when I look at her, my cock doesn’t fucking throb between my legs. But I shake my head. She’s tempting all right. She’s the inappropriate fantasy. She’s the forbidden fruit sitting there tanning in a barely-there white bikini with those bad-girl nipple piercings on display.